


more than words

by awildcur



Series: angel (but he ain't no saint) [3]
Category: Mayans M.C. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildcur/pseuds/awildcur
Relationships: Angel Reyes/Original Female Character(s), Angel Reyes/Reader
Series: angel (but he ain't no saint) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194758
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	more than words

If anyone was to ask him, Angel would say that he really doesn’t give a shit what girls think about his intelligence. Especially the ones that hang around the clubhouse, the ones that prey like a vulture for any available dick that comes their way. Nah, all they care about is what’s below his waist, and that’s all he cares about in return. He’s not looking for no deep, meaningful conversations after fucking some hyna he picks up at the clubhouse. And even if he is, he’s looking in all the wrong places.

Until you pop up, seemingly out of nowhere. Your friend drags you to a Mayans party, telling you to “live a little” since all you do lately is work. She ends up leaving you soon after arriving – something she swore she wouldn’t do – but you’re not alone for long, having caught the eye of the Mayans’ newest secretario.

Angel’s intrigued. With one look, he knows you’re not just here to find your night’s prey. Fuck, you might not even be there to prey at all. He’s bored with the usual girls that surround the club, so he strikes up a conversation with you. It’s flirty, but innocent.

_Almost._

He’s still imagining how you’d look bent over the table in Templo, panties pulled down to your ankles as his rough, ringed fingers thrust in and out of you before he fills you up with his dick. But he doesn’t try to fuck you, not that night. He gets caught up, talking with you all night, so you exchange numbers.

You’re not expecting anything other than a booty call to come out of this, and fuck, you’re down for it. But Angel surprises you, texting you throughout the week and actually keeping up real conversations, even when it inevitably turns sexual. You feel like you’re back in high school, talking to a boy late at night. Topics range from music to where you grew up to your favorite and least favorite breakfast foods – there’s lots to say about that.

Talking to you feels almost effortless to him, the conversation always flows and there’s never a dull moment. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. And when Angel finally slides inside your body, he doesn’t stop telling you how good you feel around him and moans in your ear.

When he wakes in your bed the next day, he finds you rushing to get ready for work – your boss calling you in on what’s supposed to be your day off. He knows what you do, that being one of the very first topics you talked about, but seeing you dressed up for work makes Angel realize he’s way out of his league. While he comes to learn the clean cut look is only for work, he can’t stop second guessing himself when it’s compared to all the leather and metal and grime that’s ever present in his life. He leaves when you do, watching you drive off before hopping on his bike.

Later, when he sees Ez at the scrapyard, Angel can’t help but bitterly think that in another lifetime, with no kutte and no record like it was supposed to be, his little brother would be a much better match for you. Fuck, even _with_ the kutte and the record, he knows el niño de oro would fit better in all the facets of your life, and not just when you come together at night.

* * *

Angel quickly gives up on trying to pick up on whatever egghead shit Ez talks about whenever he’s around, and just googles words to say when he’s around you. He wants to show that there’s so much more to him than the leather _and_ metal _and_ grime that consume his life. Over the next few weeks, he starts dropping new words in texts and in conversations. Subtly, so it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary to you.

He picks you up from work on your lunch break one day, and takes you to this little restaurant not too far from Felipe’s carnicería.

You sit at the table, ranting about your co-worker. The uppity bitch is always trying to micromanage you, despite only being at the company for a little over a year in comparison to your three.

“ _Ugh_ , I swear she’s been after my job since day one,” you huff, throwing yourself back in the chair.

Angel sits across from you, chewing on the tortilla chips in his mouth as he listens to your exclaims. “Wow,” he says, raising his eyebrows in concern. “Sounds pretty incredulous.”

“Hmm?” you hum curiously, scooping up some chile with a chip before popping it in your mouth.

“Insidious, I mean,” he quickly corrects and adds, “Yeah, that’s fucked up, querida.”

The waiter comes up, effectively wiping away whatever lingering questions you might have, and takes your orders. You’re starving, having skipped breakfast since you overslept. When you tell Angel this, he tries to think of a way to throw out the word “ravenous” but doesn’t want to accidentally sound stupid. Or – _what’s another word?_ \- obtuse.

As conversation steers away from your work, Angel still attempts to carefully choose his words. You watch as his brow furrows as he thinks of what to say in response, a look of bewilderment across his face.

When he’s quiet a few beats longer than he should be, you reach over the table to touch his hand. “Angel? You okay?” you ask, startling him out of his haze.

He blinks at you, clearing his throat before pulling back. “Yeah, ‘course,” he answers, and takes a swig of his beer to avoid your questioning look.

Before you can press Angel further, the server comes out with your food. You smile and thank them, but don’t immediately dig in like you intended once they’re gone. Angel starts eating but you push the food around on your plate, eyes curious as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Wassup?” he asks, nodding at your plate full of food. “I thought you were, uhh, feeling ravenous.”

You bite back the laugh that threatens to escape. Throwing your hands up, you gesture at him in confusion. _“What is this?”_

Angel arches a brow and looks down to his plate, then back to you. “Al pastor,” he answers, with a look on his face like _you’re_ the crazy one.

You give a short laugh and roll your eyes. The two of you haven’t known each other long, but there’s no denying he’s been acting weird. You don’t understand why, and you’re determined to find out.

“Angel,” you press. “C’mon. Be real wit’ me.” He swallows the bite in his mouth and gives a shrug. With a sigh, you add, “You’ve been talking and acting differently these last couple weeks, it’s so…”

“Capricious?” he offers.

“I was gonna say fucking weird, but sure. _Capricious_.”

Angel sighs and sits up in his chair. He looks at you, throwing his hands up as he attempts to explain. “I’m not smart like Ezekiel. Everyone knows I’m the Reyes fuck up.”

You have no idea where this is coming from, and you just blink in confusion. His words don’t make any sense to you, and you barely open your mouth to question him when he continues.

“It was fuckin’ stupid,” he shakes his head at himself. “I just – I didn’t want you to think that _this_ ,” he places his hands on his kutte, “is all I am. Just some fuckin’ dumb, biker outlaw.”

For the first time since you and Angel met, an awkward silence surrounds you. You hate it. But not as much as you hate hearing how Angel feels about himself. Unworthy, second best, _dumb_. Your heart hurts as you slowly realize the implication of his words.

“Angel, I’ve never thought you were just some dumb biker,” you tell him. “You don’t need to try and impress me with all these fancy words and shit. And to be real? I had to google half the shit you’ve been saying anyway!”

He laughs at that. The slight curve of his lips brightens his face. “Yeah, Gilly and Coco asked me if I swallowed a dictionary the other day,” he admits with a shake of his head.

“Oh, yeah? You’re using your smarty-pants words with them too?”

Angel brings a shoulder up in a shrug. “Testing ‘em out a bit,” he admits.

The waiter passes by your table, and stops when he notices the plates – yours still untouched, and Angel’s with only a few bites gone. You wave away his concerned “Is everything okay?” with a polite smile and a word of affirmation. He walks off, but throws back a puzzled look over his shoulder.

“You gonna eat now?” Angel asks.

“If you promise you’ll talk to me like _Angel Reyes_ and not like anyone else.”

“I promise.”

“Good,” you say and pick up your fork. You take a bite of your – thankfully still warm – food. “Because I’m fuckin’ _ravenous_.”

Angel throws his head back in a laugh. It’s a great sound.


End file.
